Can't Pretend
by iworkwithpens
Summary: If you're as confused as I am about the most recent Newsroom trailer aired by HBO, well then, come on in and read this story. Was it a metaphor, a riddle, or just a bizarre dream set in the desert? Maybe it was folie a deux...a madness shared by two. Will and Mac work their way through it together. This story won't make much sense if you haven't seen the desert trailer.


**Notes: Yup, I had to do it…desert trailer fic. If you didn't watch the newest Newsroom teaser, you won't understand this story, so go to YouTube or HBO right now and watch that first. Believe me, if you stare at that confusing, baffling Newsroom trailer long enough, you are forced to write fic about it. In my mind, the whole bewildering thing was a dream, thus this fic. Thanks to writingalone for supplying some good ideas and an eye for detail where the trailer is concerned. Here we go…**

_Love, I have wounds,  
Only you can mend, you can mend  
I guess that's love, I can't pretend  
I can't pretend  
~Tom Odell, Can't Pretend_

The dream was the same every fucking night. He was just inches from reaching out to her…to the old them…and then she disappeared. Will woke up with his sweaty t-shirt clinging to him and his hair sticking up in every direction.

"Fuck it" he said, and hoisted himself out of bed wearily. He went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror.

"Is it really possible that I look_ worse_ than I did yesterday?" he asked his reflection. The bags under his eyes screamed yes.

He called Lonny and asked him to pick him up an hour earlier because what the hell else did he have to do? Sit around his apartment, alone, and psychoanalyze his own dreams?

"You look like shit" the bodyguard informed him when he arrived.

"Thanks. Your words of love and light have inspired me Lonny" Will grumbled, entering the car.

"Have you tried a sleeping pill? Oh wait, I forgot who I was asking. I meant, have you tried a sleeping pill that was legally prescribed and _not_ mixed with alcohol and anti-depressants?" Lonny asked sarcastically.

"You're hilarious, you know that? You should take your act on the road. Really, I mean it" Will glared.

But he wasn't the only one not sleeping. From the looks of things, Mackenzie hadn't left her office in days. It was starting to smell bad in here, he thought as he entered, only to find his E.P. passed out at her desk with her face pillowed on her ubiquitous notebook. Had she been here the whole weekend?

He sat down in the chair in front of her and stared for a few minutes. She looked almost as tired as he felt. That was when he noticed it…her feet moving underneath the desk. She looked like one of those puppies you see dreaming that they are being chased, and furiously wiggling their hind legs in an attempt to outrun the dream.

He reached forward and laid his hand on her knee to stop the movement and her head shot up.

"What?!" she shouted, blinking furiously against the light and then, finally, focusing in on him.

"Will? What are you doing here?" she asked, confused and befuddled. She looked around, as if she herself seemed unsure of where she was.

"Did you sleep here?" he asked, sitting back in the chair and looking at her closely. Her hair was clinging to her forehead and cheeks and she was flushed, as if she _had_ been running a race.

"I must have" she said, still getting her bearings. "You look like shit Will."

"That seems to be the general consensus this morning" he agreed.

"Insomnia again?" she asked, rearranging her blouse to cover herself and pushing her hair out of her face.

"It appears I'm not the only one" he replied, pointing vaguely in the direction of her top button, which was undone and giving him a lovely view at the moment. Her fumbling hands tried to fix the situation, but she finally, tiredly, gave in. "Fuck it" she announced, flopping back in the chair and exhaling deeply.

"Aren't you tired of it yet?" he asked.

"Of what?"

"Running through my dreams all night long" he retorted.

"That was the worst pick-line I've ever heard Will."

"It wasn't a pick-up line. I've already picked you up, remember?" he said, shooting her a lopsided grin. Given how tired he was, though, it looked more like a grimace.

"And if I recall correctly, it was something along the lines of…I'm not drunk, I'm just intoxicated by you" she replied, chuckling at the memory.

"Well, I was."

"You were not intoxicated by me Will! You were intoxicated by Jim Beam! You were three sheets to the wind!" she shouted.

"I needed some courage. Besides, you were so beautiful I forgot what the hell I was going to say to you! I think I had a better pick-up line prepared…but you took my breath away" he conceded.

"That's the nicest thing you've said to me in a long time Billy" she admitted sadly.

"That's a shame" he thought, and then realized he'd said it out loud.

For a moment they just stared at each other, willing the other one to make a move, do something, say something that would break this stalemate. But no one did. The noise from the newsroom startled them both. The sounds of co-workers arriving and greeting each other, AP wires coming to life, and the general non-stop whir that surrounded any major network news center. It shook them out of their stupor and broke the bubble of memories they had been sharing.

The days progressed and Will began to think he was losing his mind. Every night, he chased Mackenzie through the desert, and every morning he woke tired, and alone. His hands hurt from clenching them so tightly and his skin felt itchy and parched, as if the dry air of the dream desert was soaking the moisture from it. He ached…everywhere.

And then he would go to the office, and find Mackenzie dragging herself through the day, looking as if she too had been running a nightly marathon through the Mohave. She would stand in the conference room or the control room grasping her water bottle so tightly it was as if she feared someone would take it from her.

"Mac" he finally whispered one afternoon, when they were alone in his office. She'd been avoiding being alone again with him for two days now and he knew they were drifting farther apart. Even in his dreams, it seemed it was getting harder and harder for him to see her. He knew he was still chasing her, he could smell her perfume off in the distance, but he wasn't making any progress. Each night she disappeared into the desert sun like some unreachable oasis.

"Where are you?" he asked. She looked confused.

"Where are you in _your_ dream?" he repeated pointedly. She slumped against the window, defeated.

"I don't know where I am Will. That's the whole problem. It's dark and windy and cold and the air is so dry I can barely swallow, but I know I'm supposed to be somewhere…so I just keep running. All fucking night long" she whimpered. "And then I wake up so thirsty that I drink a half a gallon of water before I go back to bed."

He stood up and walked over to her. His fingers ached to reach out and touch her, but they were stubbornly cramped. And the skin on his hands was so dry that it physically ached to move them toward her, but he did. She startled when she felt his hands on her shoulders.

"We can't do this" he whispered into her ear.

"What?"

"We can't do another show like this. Neither of us has slept in days. I don't trust us right now…not on national television" he said, but he wondered if that was the truth. Was it really just on television that he didn't trust the two of them at the moment? But suddenly his mouth was moving faster than his brain and he couldn't stop it any more than he could have stopped Charlie from drinking bourbon.

"Let's go home" he said, shocking himself with his audacity. He hadn't said those three words to her in more than five years, and his tired brain let them slip through unguarded.

"Will?" she asked, grasping her water bottle so tightly that he could hear the plastic crinkle in her hands.

"To sleep, Mac. We need to sleep. Please" he begged, because he always knew that was the way to get to her. It was her Achilles Heel where he was concerned, and so, she followed. On the way out of the newsroom he handed Jim a quickly scribbled note about letting Elliot and Don fill in for them for that night, and then he led Mac toward the elevator, not bothering to look back at the shocked faces of the staff who had been furiously preparing for a broadcast that now wouldn't be happening.

"I can't" were the first words Mackenzie uttered to him. She had been silent the entire car ride to the apartment and up to the twenty-seventh floor. She had mutely followed him to the bedroom and then stood staring at the bed as if momentarily stunned. What the hell else had she been expecting to find in this room? A grand piano?

"I can't sleep there" she said softly, with her arms wrapped around herself, for comfort or protection he wasn't sure which.

"Why?" he asked, looking for any obvious sign as to what had caused her distress. The bed looked perfectly harmless to him.

"Because _that_ is from _before_" she replied. "And _before_ doesn't exist anymore."

"Yes it does. If it didn't exist there would be no reason for us _not_ to be together now. But here we are, _not_ together Mac."

The stared at each other from opposite sides of the bed, silent and angry. It was like the dream all over again, he could practically feel how good it would be, how right, to have her back in this bed again. But there she was…still just out of reach.

He slouched down onto a chair in the corner of the room and she leaned back against the opposite wall…the bed a canyon of space between them.

"I think I'm chasing you. Every damn night for a week now. I know you're there…I've seen you a few times and I can smell you, feel you there. But every time I reach out, you vanish. You look different. You hair's a little longer…like it was _before_" he said, using her word to explain their previous life together.

"And you think if we sleep together you won't have the dream?" she asked warily.

"I do."

And for the first time, he realized it was the truth. Why he hadn't thought of it before now he hadn't a clue.

"But if I'm running _away_ from you in my dream, why would _I_ sleep any better with _you_?" she asked.

"What makes you think you _are_ running from me Mac? Maybe you're trying to find me. Or at least the me you used to know. Not the hollowed out shell of a man I've become" he said, mocking her words to him in the hospital.

"I didn't mean that Billy. I was just trying to get you riled up! Back in the game! I was trying to be a good E.P."

"Is that all you were trying to be?" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and chin resting in his clasped hands and stared at her…hard.

"What are you implying?" she asked haughtily.

"Oh for God's sake Mackenzie, you've wanted to know what the damn voicemail message said for weeks! You wanted me to just say what I was feeling! And now you want to play twenty questions?!"

Maybe this _had_ been a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn't have brought her here. His head was starting to pound and his neck ached with tension. But suddenly he heard the familiar sound of heels hitting the floor and a zipper being lowered and he looked up, stunned, to find her undressing.

"What…what are you doing?" he stuttered.

"You didn't really expect me to sleep in a two-hundred dollar silk blouse did you? I'm going to sleep Will. This is what you said you wanted. But if I kick you in the balls in the middle of the night, don't say I didn't warn you. I've been doing quite a number on the sheets lately. They're wrapped around my legs so tightly in the morning I very nearly fall out of bed. I can only imagine what acrobatics I'm performing in my sleep."

"I'll take my chances" he whispered, unexpectedly overcome with relief and gratitude. He nearly wept with joy at the thought of a full night's sleep. He prayed that Mackenzie's presence would give him that. And yet, for a moment, he stood there…mutely staring at her and wondering what to do. How the hell had he come to feel so awkward in his own home?

"This is the part where you get in the bed too Will. Jesus! Are you really that sleep-deprived?" she asked, pulling the sheets up over her camisole and underwear clad body and settling her head against the pillows. He couldn't take his eyes off the scene. Mackenzie…here…in his bed. He hadn't planned for this at all. But maybe that was best. Maybe that was the only way they worked…throwing all the plans out the window…throwing out the rundown.

"How did you want to do this?" she asked, once he had pulled off his suit and tie and got into the bed next to her. He lay on his side staring at her, eyes blinking in confusion.

"Well, it's been a while since we've been in a bed together. Do you still sleep on your left side?" she asked, thankfully taking the lead in this whole thing. Because, despite his earlier bluster and confidence, he now had no clue what the hell to do.

"Yeah" he nodded dumbly.

"Ok, then roll over" she ordered, and he did. But now he was facing away from her, and what in the hell was the point of that, he wondered?

"Just trust me" she said, replying to his unasked question. "This way, if I decide to run away in my sleep, I won't injure your manhood" she said chuckling. He couldn't help himself, he laughed too. He liked to think she might be concerned with the condition of his manhood again…someday.

"Goodnight" he whispered to her.

"Goodnight Billy" she replied, and carefully scooted closer to him until she was nervously pressed against his back. He could tell she didn't quite know where to draw the boundary right now and she didn't know where to put her hands.

"Here" he ordered, holding one of his hands up over his head and gesturing for her to put her own tiny hand inside it. She did, and he laid her arm over his shoulder, around his neck, and kissed the palm of her hand before settling it down on his chest.

"What do we do now?" she asked, wide awake, despite her earlier fatigue.

"Now we sleep, genius" he teased.

"Yeah, well now I can't" she huffed.

Christ! She was a pain in the ass sometimes! But truth be told, he was hyper aware of every inch of her that was pressed against him right now. Shit! The one thing he thought would work was somehow backfiring on him! He had thought Mackenzie's presence would relax him, but how in the name of all that was holy, did he _ever_ think that was going to be the case? Mackenzie did anything _but_ relax him. She riled him up and excited him and aroused him and confused him to no end. So how did he think that was going to result in a peaceful night's sleep?

"Tell me about something that happened while we were apart" he whispered, hoping she understood what he was asking. Tell me something mundane and fun and that will make me feel like we were just on separate vacations and not on separate continents licking our wounds and crying over the shattered remnants of what we used to be. Don't tell me about other men or, worse yet, Taliban uprisings and stabbings and hospital stays. Tell me something soothing, he pleaded silently.

"My mother got a facelift" she told him suddenly, and he burst out laughing. Eleanor McHale had always been vain…some things never changed.

"Of course" he muttered back.

"And she forced my father and I to witness the whole bloody thing. Her doctor had set up some lovely seaside hospital recovery resort type of thing, but she cancelled it and sat in bed at home, moaning and whining every fucking day while Dad and I scurried around trying to bring her whatever she wanted. I think he and I needed a hospital stay more than she did by the end of it!"

Will grinned picturing Michael and his daughter making cups of tea and trying to figure out how to work a stove. Neither of them were particularly domestic under the best of conditions and he could only imagine the trouble they had gotten themselves into.

"I ruined the microwave" Mackenzie admitted softly into the back of his neck.

"What did you do Mac?" he asked.

"Is it my fault that I forgot the Lennox china had a ring of silver around the outside of it?" she asked defensively.

Oh God, he could just imagine the sparks flying as Mac microwaved silver and nearly set the kitchen ablaze!

"Don't laugh at me Billy! It was an honest mistake. I was trying to help" she said, smacking his shoulder. "Now, you tell me one" she ordered.

"There aren't many funny moments to tell you about during those years Mac" he admitted, but she waited silently.

"I had to put Charlie to bed a few times. That's always fun" he said sarcastically.

"You two always could put away a bottle of scotch alarmingly fast" she replied. Mackenzie had always been the one to keep them from overdoing it.

"Hmm" he hummed in agreement. And then, miraculously, they both felt their eyelids begin to droop and their bodies relax into the familiar old sensation of being cocooned together in this bed…in this room. And finally, they slept.

Will soon realized he was having the same dream again, damn it! He was still walking through the desert, his legs aching with the effort of pushing on through the sand, and he was still trying to find her. He kept passing everyone from the newsroom. There was Don and Sloan and Maggie and Jim and Neal…but no Mackenzie! All he could see was miles and miles of sand…the bare beige landscape beginning to hurt his eyes. Everyone was wearing black or gray or white and he was getting bored with the monochromatic palate of the dream.

And then suddenly, there she was again! He could see her, just off in the distance…the first spot of color he had seen in what felt like days. She was wearing a beautiful teal colored dress and walking slowly away from him this time, unlike the past few nights where she had disappeared before he could get anywhere near her.

"Stop!" he called out to dream Mackenzie. And, amazingly, she did. He ran to catch up to her and clasped his hands around her waist, pulling her to him. He settled his head on her shoulder and smelled her perfume and her shampoo and nothing about her had changed.

"You can't pretend" she said simply.

"What?" he asked, more confused than ever.

"Stop trying…you can't pretend you don't love me. Aren't you tired yet?" she asked, and he realized he was. Tired of trying to make her feel like he didn't care anymore. Tired of dating vapid women who actually knew who all the Real Housewives of New Hampshire were…or whatever the hell state they were from. Tired of pretending he didn't want to be with Mac every fucking moment of every fucking day of his life.

OH! _That's_ why he was so tired! Now he understood! And suddenly the desert disappeared and they were in Mackenzie's parent's country house in the Lake District. And they were in bed together watching a fire crackle away nearby and he didn't think he'd ever been so comfortable in his life.

Did you ever have a dream about sleeping? It's quite an odd sensation. Somehow you wake up feeling twice as rested and infinitely more relaxed because your mind had been resting as well as your body.

When he finally opened his eyes, Will had to wonder if he was still dreaming. Because, somehow, in the middle of the night Mackenzie had ended up exactly where she had been in his dream of the lake house. He looked out the window to make sure, but thankfully, he was greeted with the very real skyline of New York City, early in the morning…and Mackenzie's hair tickling his chin. She was dead to the world, sprawled out on top of him, her face pressed to his shoulder.

"Not running" she mumbled into his neck.

"No Mac. I don't think you were running last night" he reassured her. "I think maybe you're done running…and I'm done chasing."

**The End**


End file.
